


Children of the Streets

by Cottonstones



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Homelessness, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/pseuds/Cottonstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dallon and Brendon are homeless, working every day to survive one more night in their poverty-stricken city.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Children of the Streets

Dallon wakes up and it’s cold out. It’s always cold because it’s October, but today is one of those days where the degrees are slipping down the spectrum and frost is clinging to the thin patches of grass that surround the concrete support beams of the bridge.

He moves and he feels a warm hand splayed across the thin fabric of his t-shirt. Dallon smiles and looks down to see Brendon has slid his hand up under Dallon’s coat. It’s typical Brendon, always wanting to get closer, more contact. Dallon squeezes around Brendon’s side and the other boy shifts, curled into Dallon and he murmurs something that Dallon doesn’t catch. Brendon tries to snuggle closer to Dallon, the cold obviously setting in.

“Are you awake?” Dallon asks. His voice is quiet. He doesn’t want to wake Brendon up if he doesn’t have to. Brendon hums low.

“It’s cold.”

“It’ll be more commonplace,” Dallon tells Brendon. He’s sitting up against the thick wide slab of cold graffiti covered stone with Brendon curled in at Dallon’s side, his head up under Dallon’s arm. “Do you want to go get something to eat?” Dallon asks. It feels early. There’s not a lot of traffic that can be heard overhead, so Dallon figures it is. The line at the soup kitchen won’t be too long yet.

“Yeah, we should before it gets too late.” Brendon stretches and he’s frowning. Brendon really hates the cold. More than once Dallon has considered moving them somewhere warmer; California, maybe. They could bum around the beaches. At least they’d be warm.

Dallon pushes up off the sleeping bag that’s laid out on the ground, their makeshift bed. He offers Brendon a hand and the other boy takes it, lets Dallon help him to his feet. Dallon doesn’t release Brendon’s hand after he’s standing. Instead, he laces their fingers together and tugs Brendon closer.

The two of them walk up the gentle slope of thin, dying grass and brown, packed dirt that leads up from the underside of the bridge they call home. The slope opens up to a low traffic backstreet, more graffiti-covered sky scrapers with their broken windows and gutted out insides. Dallon would think about sleeping inside one of these shells of former residential apartments, but the idea is a popular one and Dallon and Brendon don’t really have the means to fight knife to knife with the crazier bunches of homeless that call the city home.

Brendon and Dallon walk the six blocks it takes to get to the soup kitchen, nestled in a strip of overfilled homeless shelters and run down bars. There’s already a sizeable line formed at the door waiting the twenty something odd minutes before the kitchen opens for the day. The kitchen allows you three meals a day and no more than your own average portion so Dallon and Brendon try to make it down here for their three squares. They’re not the type to sit around outside the kitchen for hours on end to ensure the first spot in line, but they’re also not the kind to show up five minutes before the doors open.

Brendon is behind Dallon in line and Dallon feels the soft weight of Brendon resting his head in the center of his back. Dallon smiles and reaches back to pull Brendon’s arms around him so that they circle his waist. Brendon squeezes at Dallon’s sides, nimble fingers slipping into the pockets of Dallon’s coat.

There are enough of the same people here every day that no one gives a second look. In the homeless community, there are far stranger sights than that of two gay men showing affection in a soup kitchen line. Dallon remembers the guy who talked to himself, the woman who pushed around a cart full of plastic baby doll toys. He and Brendon are simply those two gay dudes.

“I’m tired, D,” Brendon grumbles. He’s more apt to irritation when his stomach’s empty.

“Just a little longer, B,” Dallon promises. Dallon can’t promise much these days, but he can always promise to find a way to take care of Brendon. It’s what he strives for every day he wakes. Taking care of Brendon before his own needs won’t ease the constant guilt that worms its way through Dallon’s core, because he’s the one who got the two of them into this mess, but it’s enough to get him through the day.

Dallon brings Brendon around so he gets his meal before Brendon’s. Dallon wraps his arms around Brendon. Their slight height difference makes it hard, but Dallon likes it because he feels like he’s completely enveloping Brendon, giving him a shelter that in their real life he cannot provide. Brendon presses his face into the dirty fabric of Dallon’s coat. Dallon smiles and drops a kiss to the matted dark hair of Brendon’s head.

Within the hour the two of them have their bowls of soup. It’s always soup or stew, sometimes chowder and bread. Dallon and Brendon sit together at a table near the back of the shelter. They’re not alone because they’re never alone save for when they sleep under the bridge. Brendon eats like they haven’t eaten in days, Dallon finds it more endearing than sad exactly. He always gives his bread to Brendon, most the time the younger boy will object, but the other times he’ll accept it with a guilty look on his face.

“Dallon,” Brendon says around a spoonful of soup. “You’re not eating.”

Dallon comes out of the daze he’d been lost in and blinks at Brendon before he picks up his spoon and takes a swallow of homemade chicken noodle. The people who volunteer here – well … half of them are volunteers. The other half are sent here to work off time that could otherwise be spent in jail. The ones who volunteer are the sort Dallon like the most. They make homemade pots of soup and bring them in and smile extra hard when the homeless come through.

“Sorry, I was just lost in thought.”

“You’re not being hard on yourself again, are you?” Brendon asks. His voice is edging on worry and his brow is furrowed, dirty bangs hanging down in his face. Dallon covers Brendon’s free hand with his own.

“Not today – or not yet at least.”

Brendon sighs. “Dallon-“

Dallon waves him off. “I’m kidding, okay? I’m fine. I don’t want to have this discussion, okay?”

“And I don’t want you to beat yourself up all day and act like you have to suffer more than everyone else.”

“Okay. I’m fine, Bren, alright? Here, you want my bun?” Dallon tries to hand over the bread to Brendon who shakes his head and pushes it back towards Dallon.

“You eat it.”

“Split it?” Dallon asks with a grin.

Brendon leans in and presses a quick kiss to Dallon’s mouth. Dallon feels warmth spreading along his body that has nothing to do with the soup. “Eat alright?” Brendon breathes against Dallon’s mouth.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Dallon says with a little salute that manages to make Brendon snort.

Once they’ve finished their meals ,they have little to nothing else planned. The two of them usually walk straight into the heart of downtown to the men’s shelter so they can shower. Downtown, it’s harder to blend in with the everyday folk who are heading to work or on the way to drop their kids off for school. It’s a bit of a shock to Dallon, to remember that the whole world isn’t dying the way his slice of the city is. Not everything is broken.

At least the two of them don’t dress in the way one would picture when thinking of a stereotypical ‘bum’. They had their suitcases when they left and those suitcases are long gone; traded for the sleeping bags they use as their beds, but the clothes are around, tucked into a garbage bag hidden in the sparse bushes surrounding their sleeping area.

Twice a week, Dallon goes down to the blood bank and donates plasma for twenty dollars a day. Today is one of those days, and on these days Brendon walks the mile and a half to the sprawling park to sing and panhandle. Dallon wishes he had had enough sense to grab his or Brendon’s guitar on the way out of their respective houses. Brendon still loves music; even if they’re living on the street, that’s not going to change. Dallon knows he aches for it and the singing is still considered a win to Brendon, even if no one leaves tips in the metal can he sets out. Dallon would still like to get Brendon a guitar, though, maybe for Christmas. If he saved all his blood money and only ate soup. He could probably get one.

The two of them separate a block from the blood bank. Brendon leans up on his tippy-toes in his worn out sneakers so that he can reach Dallon’s mouth. Dallon will wrap an arm around Brendon’s lower back, keep him in place and steady so he can kiss him full and deep.

Brendon is the first one to pull back. “Okay, you should go. Tell Spencer I said hi, okay?”

“Will do,” Dallon smiles and Brendon bounces on his heels once before he turns and starts heading towards the park. Dallon stands on his corner and watches him until Brendon is a tiny speck of dark that rounds the corner and leaves Dallon’s line of vision. Once Brendon is gone, Dallon will walk the block down to the blood bank to sign in.

Today, Spencer is running the sign-in and Dallon is thankful for that. Spencer is a nurse who works at the bank. He and Dallon have struck up an odd sort of friendship that comes from talking while Spencer is drawing his blood. Dallon knows a little about Spencer, that is mom is a nurse and he used to help her when he was in high school, and that he liked it enough to continue on with it once he was out.

“Good morning, Dallon,” Spencer says with a bright smile. He’s probably one of the nicest people who work at the bank.

“Spencer Smith! Fancy meeting you here.”

“Right? Who’d expect I’d be at my job,” Spencer says. “Sign here please.” Spencer hands Dallon the clipboard with the white sign in sheet and dangling pen attached.

From the door of the bank Dallon can see a row of people already laid out in their seats with the needles in their arms. He’s never been a fan of needles, but an hour of discomfort for twenty dollars? Dallon would be an idiot to turn away from that. He just can’t afford to.

“Alright, Dallon. Go back for your screening and then I’ll set up your station,” Spencer says. He points back towards the screening room where they other nurses check your weight, whether or not you’re sober, and a shit ton of other things.

Ten minutes later, Dallon is at his station with Spencer picking out a vein, needle in his hand. While Dallon is getting stuck, he asks Spencer about his day. This sends Spencer into a tale about his roommates Ryan and Jon, if Dallon remembers right, and how Spencer barely got any sleep last night because he could hear them fucking practically all night long.

“There’s something deeply disturbing about knowing what your best friend sounds like when he comes,” Spencer says with a laugh. Dallon likes talking to Spencer. It makes him feel just a little more normal, like these are the things he’s supposed to be able to talk about.

By the time Dallon gets out of the blood bank, money in hand, Brendon is already waiting for him, sitting with his back against the brick wall. Brendon stands when Dallon comes out the door.

“Hey, babe, did you make good today?” Dallon asks. Brendon smiles and shrugs.

“Ten bucks, give or take.”

“How about we go out for a real lunch then? No soup today,” Dallon suggests. Brendon nods and offers Dallon his hand. With their hands laced together, they start the walk to the little rundown diner that’s five blocks from the blood bank. “What’d you sing?” Dallon asks as they walk.

Brendon hums a little. “Some Sublime, some old stuff, Sinatra, you know?”

“You need to do that one on a day that I’m not giving up my vein gravy. I want to hear you too.”

Brendon squeezes at Dallon’s fingers. “You can have a private concert anytime you want.”

Dallon leans in and noses at the side of Brendon’s head. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

They order a late lunch at the diner. It’s warm inside the place and Dallon along with Brendon are finally able to ditch their coats. Brendon relaxes back against the red glittery plastic of the booth they’re sitting in. He’s in a black t-shirt and he looks smaller than Dallon remembers. He guesses he’s just used to seeing Brendon in his coat, the thick fabric giving the illusion of weight.

The longer they hang around here, eating and drinking cups of water and coffee, the longer they have something to do and not head back to the bridge.

“If we eat enough now, we won’t have to go back to the kitchen for dinner,” Dallon says.

“But that eats up our cash,” Brendon says, pointing a fry at Dallon.

“I was thinking … maybe we should move on? Greener pastures, you know?” Dallon says into his cup of coffee.

“Where would we go?” Brendon asks. They’ve had this discussion before, just talking, no concrete plans.

“Somewhere warm? I worry about my delicate flower during the winter,” Dallon teases. Brendon laughs and rolls his eyes. “Plus, maybe if we left, we could find work?”

“No one will hire us here. What about moving would make a difference?”

That’s true. Dallon’s had a few promising opportunities, but as soon as he neglects to write down an address, he’s turned away. The businesses of the city would rather not have the homeless on their team, and no one is willing to give Dallon or Brendon the chance they need.

Dallon sighs. “We gotta do something.”

“Excuse me,” they hear an unfamiliar voice say. Dallon sees Brendon looking somewhere just over Dallon’s shoulder and he turns in the booth to face the man behind them. “I couldn’t help but overhear your predicament,” the man behind them says.

“Oh?” Dallon asks uncertainly. He’s not too trustworthy of people around the city. No one wants to help without a hefty price attached.

The man offers his large hand to Dallon. “My name is Caleb.”

“Uh I’m Dallon and this – ”Dallon jerks his thumb back at Brendon “ – is my friend, Brendon.”

“It’s a pleasure. Now, boys, I couldn’t help but overhear that you two are in need of a job…”

“Yeah, we’re a little hard up right now,” Dallon says. It’s a huge understatement. Caleb smiles and Dallon isn’t sure what to think quite yet. This Caleb fellow doesn’t exactly look like the crooked type; he looks older, maybe in his thirties, with slicked-back hair and dark eyes.

“And I’m in need of some work around my house. I could pay you for your time, no problem. It’s just that I’m terrible at anything handy and have extra space to boot.”

Dallon glances back at Brendon with a questioning expression. Brendon looks helpful – excited, even – and that’s enough to have Dallon convinced that it’s a good idea. Dallon turns back to Caleb.

“We could…we could do that.”

Caleb grins and pushes his hair back even though his hair is short and didn’t move at all. “That’s great. It’s a win-win for everyone,” Caleb says, grinning at the two of them. “You can finish up your meal and then I’ll get my car and we can pick up whatever you two want to take with you, and then we’ll drive to my place. Sound good?”

Dallon nods and Brendon is grinning almost as wide as Caleb, who slides out of his plastic booth and fishes in the pocket of his khaki pants for his wallet, popping it open and dropping a couple of bills on the table. Caleb gives them a little nod as he slides on his jacket and pulls out his keys before heading out the door.

Once Caleb is gone, Dallon turns to Brendon. “You think this is a good idea?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty excited, actually,” Brendon says. “It’ll be nice to have some work, you know?”

“Yeah, it feels good already,” Dallon says. He reaches across the table and pats Brendon’s hand. “We’re going to have to find you some handiness skills, though.”

Brendon laughs and shakes Dallon off. “Shut up. I’m very handy.”

“We should take our clothes,” Dallon says. Brendon nods in agreement.

“We’ll get to sleep in a real bed.” Brendon sounds so happy. It’s enough to ease away Dallon’s doubt. Maybe some decent people still do exist in this city.

The two of them have finished their meals by the time Caleb comes back, his shiny, expensive car parked outside of the diner. Dallon feels like he should warn Caleb that a car like that is just begging to be robbed. Caleb re-enters the restaurant and beams at the two of them.

“Let me get your meals,” Caleb says, reaching for his wallet once again. Dallon makes to object, but Caleb waves him off before he ushers them up and out to his car. “Give me directions to your place and we can pick up your stuff.”

Dallon and Brendon are seated in the backseat and Dallon directs him to the bridge with mild embarrassment. It will never stop being embarrassing to admit to a person, especially a person as obviously well off as Caleb, that you’re homeless.

Caleb doesn’t judge, though; he doesn’t even look put off by their little set-up under the bridge.

“I’ll go and get it,” Brendon says as he hops out of Caleb’s car. Dallon nods and Caleb smiles. While Brendon is gone, Caleb catches Dallon’s eye in the rearview mirror.

“Not to pry … I’m more curious than anything else, but how did you two come to live here?”

Dallon was expecting the question, but that doesn’t make him any more eager to answer.

“We had a falling out with our parents,” Dallon says as the least detailed answer. It isn’t a lie, not really; Dallon and Brendon definitely don’t talk to their respective sets of parents. Caleb’s eyebrows arch.

“Oh, so you’re brothers, then?”

“Yeah, you could say that,” Dallon replies.

Caleb doesn’t ask for more details and Dallon is thankful. Of course, bringing up the subject of how Dallon and Brendon ended up in the dregs of the city brings the memories right to the forefront of Dallon’s mind.

Dallon was orphaned at three years old. He was young and still small enough that he only spent a year in an orphanage before he was adopted by a kind Mormon couple and dropped smack dab in the middle of Nowhere, Utah. Dallon doesn’t remember his real parents or what religion they might have believed in, if any, but from then on, he was raised Mormon – which was fine, it wasn’t bad.

When Dallon was nineteen, he joined the music class at the church he’d attended all his life. That class was where he met a then-seventeen year old Brendon. Both Brendon and Dallon were singer and both of them played the guitar, so it was only natural that they gravitated towards each other and became friends.

Brendon’s parents liked Dallon and vice versa, and Dallon spent many nights eating with the Urie family or Brendon coming over to ride to church with Dallon. He remembers the first time he kissed Brendon. They’d been practicing guitar; Brendon was a natural and picked it up faster than anyone else Dallon ever played with. They had been playing together, heads leaned close when Brendon leaned forward, stopping inches from Dallon’s mouth, unable to go the rest of the way. Dallon closed that gap uncertainly. It was a simple kiss, dry and sweet and Brendon pulled back with flushed cheeks, giggling; Dallon was pretty much in love since then.

They spent their afternoons making out quietly in Brendon or Dallon’s room under the guise of guitar lessons or homework sessions. The kissing evolved into dry-humping which evolved into handjobs, which turned into blowjobs. But what got the two of them caught was nothing risqué; nothing overtly sexual. They were lying together on Dallon’s bed sharing soft, innocent kisses when Dallon’s mother walked in to offer them lunch.

Life sort of fell apart after that. Brendon was sent home and Dallon was told to leave the house the second his father came home. Dallon was banished from the church and from the community, and was forbidden to see Brendon. Dallon took the blame – Brendon was younger, he’d have a chance to be forgiven – but Brendon wouldn’t stay away. He’d found Dallon at a friend’s house outside of the community. Brendon had said he wanted to leave with Dallon. Looking back now, Dallon thinks he shouldn’t have been so selfish. He should’ve sent Brendon home. Sure, it’d be hard to live without him, but at least then Brendon would have the kind of life Dallon can’t give him.

Dallon is jerked back from his memories by the sound of the trunk of Caleb’s car slamming and Brendon hopping back into the backseat, his knee bumping Dallon’s. “We’re good to go,” Brendon says happily. Dallon smiles and rests his hand on Brendon’s knee, squeezing. He’s thankful at least to have Brendon in his life. If he were alone, he really doesn’t know where he would be.

The drive out to Caleb’s is a long one. Two hours. The house is a three story manor settled on a sprawling land far outside the city. It’s been a long, long time since Dallon’s been out of the city. Caleb parks in front of the house and offers to carry their garbage bag full of clothing.

Caleb doesn’t offer them a tour, just shows them to the rooms they’ll be staying in and points out a few of the projects they’ll be working on. He tells them that he lives alone in the house, save for a housekeeper that comes every afternoon. Dallon is jealous, he won’t lie. Of course he’s jealous. Caleb is living in a huge house all alone while Brendon and Dallon are roughing it under a bridge in the slums.

Caleb leaves them to get settled, and once he’s gone, Brendon kicks off his sneakers and sprawls across the bed designated as Dallon’s.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed a real bed,” Brendon mumbles into the downy pillows. Dallon abandons the dresser where he was putting away his clothes and instead joins Brendon in laying out on the bed. Dallon smoothes a hand up and down Brendon’s back, rubbing at his shoulders. “How long do you think he’ll leave us alone?” Brendon asks. He’s turned his head so he can meet Dallon’s eye.

“Dunno. Why?”

“Because we have full use of a real bed and I want to take full advantage of that,” Brendon says, wiggling his eyebrows. Dallon laughs, but damn, that sounds like a fantastic idea. He props himself up on his elbows and stares down at Brendon.

“I think we could pull it off.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Brendon grins. He pushes up on his knees and catches Dallon’s mouth in a damp kiss. Dallon takes down the zipper on Brendon’s coat, helping to push it off of him before his hands move to Brendon’s faded, worn out skinny jeans, the same ones he’s been wearing for two years now. “Enough of working on me, you get naked now,” Brendon mumbles against Dallon’s mouth.

Dallon nods and pops his own button on his jeans, tugs off his coat. They don’t strip down completely. Dallon’s jeans are pushed down to his knees, Brendon’s are off, but both of their shirts stay on. They work fast; it’s what they’re used to by now. Dallon preps Brendon fast, working with spit and his fingers, and Brendon just pants opened mouth against Dallon’s neck, begging for Dallon’s dick.

Brendon gets a leg on either side of Dallon’s hips, slowly sinking down on Dallon’s cock. Dallon pushes his hands up under Brendon’s shirt, holding on to pale skin as Brendon rides him fast. They manage to keep quiet; Dallon pulls Brendon down to kiss him, muffling Brendon’s moans. Neither of them last very long at all. Dallon can’t with the way Brendon is riding his lap, like it’s the last time they’ll ever fuck, with the way Brendon’s eyes are so dark, and his mouth red and bitten. No matter how close Dallon is to coming, Brendon still comes first, Dallon’s hand sliding in a wet circle along the length of Brendon’s cock.

Dallon fucks him through his orgasm, grower closer and closer to his own edge. “Do you want me to pull out?” Dallon grunts. Brendon dips his head, breathes against Dallon’s mouth, shaking his head.

“No, no, don’t.”

That’s all Dallon needs because he’s burying himself inside Brendon and coming, his vision whiting out.

“Fuck, Brendon, that was – ”

“Yeah,” Brendon agrees. He’s laid out on top of Dallon, face in Dallon’s neck. Dallon is still inside Brendon and he’s clenching weakly around Dallon’s cock. All Dallon feels like doing is sleeping straight until tomorrow morning, but they can’t stay like this, not with Caleb milling around.

“Bren, we gotta get dressed,” Dallon prods. Brendon whines but lets Dallon kiss him and roll him on to his back. They get their clothes back on, and Dallon wonders how strange Caleb would find two ‘brothers’ napping in the same bed to be.

They don’t get to sleep, though, because Caleb decides to come upstairs and invite them down for dinner and drinks.

“I have a good feeling about this partnership,” Caleb says as a toast.

“You don’t know how much we appreciate this. All we needed was someone to give us a shot,” Dallon says, Brendon nodding in agreement.

Caleb smiles, “I’m glad I could be the one to do so.”

After dinner, Dallon is tired and hopeful and he can’t believe he doesn’t have to sleep outside tonight. Brendon is in Dallon’s room to collect his clothes and deposit them in his own dresser in his own room.

“It’ll be strange to sleep without you,” Brendon says. “I haven’t done that in two years.”

Dallon envelops Brendon in a hug. “Hey, listen. We’ll wait till Caleb is asleep and then I’ll come in there okay? I’ll sleep with you, don’t worry.”

Brendon kisses Dallon once, twice. “Okay.”

It takes a lot for Dallon to stay awake until he thinks Caleb has gone to bed. Caleb told them his room is on the first floor while Dallon and Brendon’s are both on the second floor. After an hour, Dallon decides that it’s long enough and he creeps quietly down the hall still just a little lost in the unfamiliar house.

Dallon suddenly hears a muffled near-shout of “Dallon!” coming from the room he thinks is Brendon’s.

When he finds Brendon’s room he doesn’t bother knocking, he just pushes the door open. What he’s expecting to see is Brendon curled in his blankets and sleepily waiting for Dallon to form behind him. What he isn’t expecting to see is Brendon being pinned to the mattress by Caleb, his hand over Brendon’s mouth and Brendon struggling under him.

“What the fuck?” Dallon shouts. Caleb jumps up from the bed, wide eyed, and Brendon flings himself as far off the bed as possible, falling off the mattress and on to the floor.

“Dallon,” Caleb raises his hands, but if he thinks he can talk his way out of this, then he’s a fool.

“What were you doing to him?” Dallon seethes. He strides to Caleb. He’s bigger than Caleb is. He could pummel Caleb. Dallon catches the collar of Caleb’s t-shirt and hauls him up.

“No, no, he kissed me. I came to ask him how he was and he kissed me, pulled me on top of him!”

“I know that’s not true,” Dallon sneers.

From the corner of his eye, Dallon sees Brendon edge out of the room. Brendon hates confrontation normally, but now…with what Caleb was trying to do…

“You were trying to rape him. Did you bring us here so you could try to get into his pants?” Dallon shouts. Caleb flinches, wriggles in Dallon’s grip.

“Look, look. We can make a deal, can’t we? Your brother…he’s attractive okay? I mean, you are, too, but he’s small and I like small and maybe you could talk to him? I’ll pay him! I’ll make it worth his while.”

“He’s not a goddamn prostitute. We’re hard up for cash, but I would never, never let you do that to Brendon. He’s not like that.”

“Five thousand,” Caleb says. “I’ll give you two five thousand a piece if you let me fuck him. I won’t hurt him, I swear.”

Dallon growls, he feels sick. He can’t even think straight anymore. If Dallon hadn’t come in here…Caleb wouldn’t have stopped, he’d have forced himself on Brendon. Hurt Brendon. Dallon pulls back and connects his fist with Caleb’s eye, then his jaw.

Caleb drops to the floor when Dallon releases him and he rushes out of the room. Brendon is out in the hallway, shaking. Dallon takes his hand and pulls him to his room.

“Get dressed. We’re leaving, now,” Dallon tells him.

“My clothes, Dallon…they’re in – ”

“Look, there’s some still in the bag. Just get changed okay? It’s cold out.”

Brendon nods and pulls on his clothes. Dallon changes his own clothes and stuffs the ones from the dresser into their garbage bag. He also takes whatever else he can find in the room, jewelry, spare change, and books, whatever and throws it into the bag. He doesn’t even feel bad for stealing the shit, hell, Dallon doubts he would feel bad if he killed Caleb.

“You assaulted me!” Caleb screams from the hallway. Dallon takes the garbage bag and goes back to Brendon’s room. He shoves Caleb away from him when the older man runs at him. Dallon empties the drawers of Brendon’s dresser, collecting his clothes. “I’m calling the police! You better believe it. You and that little fucking slut better leave now before they get here. I’ll have them lock you up for good.”

Dallon shoves Caleb against the hallway wall. Caleb’s nose is bleeding and he’s got his eye closed tight. “You better listen to me. If he weren’t here…you’d be a dead man right now,” Dallon growls.

“A threat! That’s a threat!” Caleb shouts after them as Dallon takes Brendon’s hand and leads him down the stairs and out the door.

It doesn’t matter that Dallon doesn’t really know where they are or that they’re two hours away from the city, and that it’s freezing out here. They just need to get out of here. Dallon doesn’t at all doubt that Caleb will call the police. It’s his word against two homeless men; there’s no way they’d ever believe Dallon and Brendon about what happened.

They walk in silence for nearly ten minutes before Dallon stops to catch his breath. They’re far enough away from Caleb’s place that, if the police come, Brendon and Dallon can duck into the shallow darkness of the woods lining the deserted road.

“Dallon…” Brendon starts. Dallon looks up at Brendon, he still feels sick to his stomach. “He came in and I though – I thought it was you. I didn’t – he…”

“Hey, shh, Brendon, Bren, I know, okay? You don’t have to explain. I know this wasn’t your fault.”

“What are we going to do now, Dallon?”

Dallon pulls Brendon close, holds him until the shaking stops.

“We’ll get to one of those twenty-four hour diners. We have enough cash still that we can get some coffee; we can get our heads straight. We’ll walk back home if we have to.”

“Okay,” Brendon says into Dallon’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Brendon.”

“Dallon, don’t – ”

“No, Brendon just-your life would be so much better without me in it. You’d have a house, you’d still be in school, you’d be with your family and you would never have to go through half the shit I put you through. I should’ve made you stay. I should’ve told you no.”

“Do you honestly think I would have listened to you? I love you. I want to be with you. I can’t live my life without you in it. If I could be without you, do you think I’d tough this out? If I didn’t love you, I would’ve left by now. But I love you and we’re a team, okay? We’re in this together and I’m not leaving. I made the decision to exile myself right along with you. It was my choice.”

Dallon pushes his hands in Brendon’s hair. “I love you so much. I’ll do anything for you.”

“I know,” Brendon says. “I’d do the same for you.”

“We should find a diner,” Dallon says. Brendon nods and the two of them start walking once again.

Forty minutes later, they do find a diner, but by then they’re more than exhausted and are nursing cups of coffee to stay awake as long as they can. The diner has a payphone in the parking lot and Dallon decides to call the only number he still knows.

“Spencer, hey, it’s uh…It’s Dallon. I know it’s late, but…Brendon and I are sort of in trouble.”

Spencer had given Dallon his number in case of a medical emergency. This wasn’t exactly one of those, but it was damn close enough. Dallon is thankful that Spencer might just be the greatest person in the city; he’s definitely the only person in Dallon’s life who’s willing to drive almost two hours to pick them up at diner in the middle of nowhere.

“He’s coming to get us. It’ll be a while. We should order breakfast.” Brendon is sitting next to Dallon and he nods. “He said we could stay there for a while. His roommates, Jon and Ryan? They practically share a room anyway; he said we could have the other.”

Brendon looks unsure.

“It won’t be like Caleb,” Dallon says.

“I know that.”

The two of them eat and are back to drinking soda and water until Spencer shows up. He’s in his pajamas and looks a little sleep-rumpled, but he smiles at Dallon and Brendon when he spots them. Dallon introduces them and Spencer shakes Brendon’s hand, loads their bag into his car.

“So you’ll stay, right? It’s too cold out for you two to be outside,” Spencer says. Dallon looks over at Brendon, who nods.

“We’ll stay. We don’t want to impose, though; we’ll be out by morning.”

“You know I don’t mind if you stay longer. If money is what you’re worried about, let me tell you … once, Ryan bought a guitar instead of chipping in for the bills, and Jon has cats, so it’s not like that’d be the worst of the problems at home.”

Dallon and Brendon fall asleep together in the backseat of Spencer’s car. When they next wake up, they’re at Spencer’s apartment, and they follow Spencer up the three flights of stairs. Jon and Ryan are asleep already, seeing as it’s after two in the morning, and Spencer points them to Jon's room, where they’ll be sleeping for the night.

It’s a little strange being in someone else's bed, but it’s nice to even be inside. Spencer, they can trust; Dallon knows they can. He hopes they can work something out so that they really can stay like Spencer says. Brendon rests his head on Dallon’s chest, their hands linked. Dallon wants to forget the majority of today; he has to let go of it to be able to wake up tomorrow and do it all again. But with Brendon sleeping on him soft and comfortable and a warm roof over their heads, Dallon feels like maybe this is the chance they’ve been waiting for.


End file.
